


Potential Won/Potential Stolen

by Sand3



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5619592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sand3/pseuds/Sand3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The old woman smiled fondly at him. “It is all right to be frightened, child,” she crooned.</p><p>“I am not frightened of <em>anything!</em> Not even <em>Hel!</em>” Loki declared. “I will throw myself from the window and you will <em>see</em> how unfrightened I am!”</p><p>“Goodness, now you have frightened me!” the old woman said, eyebrows lifting high. “Why would you do such a thing?”</p><p>“I will not be a <em>trophy!</em>” Loki shrilled.</p><p>The old woman’s face formed a grim smile and she nodded slowly. “No. Not you,” she agreed quietly. “I will not see that fate befall you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potential Won/Potential Stolen

Odin entered the large tent that was his home at the front. A greeting from the tent’s other occupant was immediate; the child let out a great holler of fury as he ran over the table around which Odin met and conferred with his generals and upon which he took his evening meals. All manner of dishes and cups were upset as the child charged across and made a flying leap at Odin, a silver breadknife gripped in his small hand. With little effort and no harm to himself or the child, Odin caught the boy and restrained him. “ _Damn_ it, boy!” he swore. “ _Cease_ this foolishness!”

“ _Never!_ ” the child spat, struggling for all he was worth yet causing Odin’s grip not to loosen at all. “Kill me _now_ or see the day that I cut your furry throat, _tyrant!_ ”

“What _nonsense!_ ” Odin scolded. “The battle is ended and you are but a child. No one is going to kill you, boy.”

“I am the son of _King_ _Laufey_ and I will see the color of your _blood_ , Æsir dog!” the child shrieked.

“Enough of this,” Odin growled, prying the knife from the child’s tiny hand and pushing him back into his seat. “Accept the hospitality of Asgard and eat what you are given.”

“I will _not_ be bribed with your _poisoned_ meat! You mean to _choke_ me and laugh at my stupidity, but I am not so _stupid_ as you believe!” the child accused, glaring.

“There is no _poison_ here and no one wishes you harm,” Odin maintained. “As the orphan of my vanquished foe, it is my duty and honor to care for you.”

“ _Liar_ ,” the child hissed.

Odin took a piece of meat from one of the platters arrayed in front of the child. He ate it while the child watched and gave him a pointed look as he swallowed. “There is no poison here,” he repeated.

“They say you have great magics,” the child narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Perhaps you cast a spell upon that piece to remove the poison from it.”

Odin rolled his eye. “And if can make poisons come and go in such a manner, why should I even need you to eat at all?”

“For your _sick_ entertainment,” the child retorted. “So that you can say it was my own _fault_.”

“I do not wish to poison you or harm you in any way,” Odin sighed. “You are my guest now and I will not be accused of inhospitality.”

The child fell into silence, glaring, and continued to ignore the food spread before him.

000

In the confusion of breaking camp, the child had stolen a dagger and climbed up upon a belfry, from which he was shouting threats and insults as the soldiers of Asgard looked up at him with somewhat bewildered expressions. “Boy, get _down_ from there!” Odin shouted up at him.

“ _No!_ ” the child screeched back and threw a ball of ice about the size of his small fist, which struck Odin’s helmet and deflected harmlessly away. “I will _not_ be a _trophy!_ ”

“Damned _brat_ ,” Odin whispered under his breath, and then began climbing the belfry himself. “ _What_ are you nattering about _now?_ ”

“If _you_ will not fight me fairly and strike me _dead_ , I will do it _myself!_ ” the child declared, holding the dagger to his own throat.

“I _cannot_ fight you fairly! You are a _child_ , and I have no other child here to provide you an equal battle!” Odin protested, dodging as he reached the top of the belfry and the child slashed at him with the dagger. “ _Stop_ that!” he snapped, grabbing the boy’s arm and holding fast as he struggled.

“ _No!_ ” the child shrieked again, clawing at Odin’s hand and gouging into his flesh with vicious frostbite.

“Boy,” Odin said in a gruff but quiet voice, catching the boy’s other arm and holding him steady as he crouched down so their gazes were at the same level. “I will not allow you to take your life, for it would be a tremendous waste.”

“I will _not_ be a _trophy!_ ” the child repeated.

“No, I can see that you are no bauble,” Odin agreed, nodding seriously. “You are as fierce as any of my warriors and a testament to the strength and will of Jötunheim.”

“You are _mocking_ me!” the boy bristled, eyes bright with fury.

“I am not. You are yet small, but your pride and anger burn brightly. Will you still not give me your name, young warrior?” Odin implored.

“I will give you _nothing_ , despot!” the child spat.

000

Odin kept an arm firmly around the child as they rode over the Bifrost. Three times had the diminutive rogue slipped out of Odin’s reach and attempted to flee into the wastelands and three times had he been caught and returned to Sleipnir’s back with a scolding. Odin’s eagerness to be home was deepened by his desire to put the child in the care of servants so that he could have a vacation from the boy’s vitriol and escape attempts. Although, he did have to wonder whether the servants would be equipped to handle him... But surely he could be no more trouble than _Thor_.

As the procession approached the gates of Asgard, a great crowd could be seen awaiting them within, banners and spirits high. The child was again trying to freeze the arm holding him, and although his attempts at frostbite were not penetrating the enchantments woven into Odin’s armor, his anxiety was clear. Not only would dragging the boy through a parade be cruel, but there was also some risk that Odin may, in the excitement, loosen his grip and the child could escape and hurt, or be hurt by, the revelers.

“Heimdall,” Odin called, turning slightly in his saddle, and Heimdall rode immediately up beside him. “Take the child ahead to the palace that he may be looked after there. I will see that no one notices your passing.”

“Aye, my liege,” Heimdall agreed reaching out to catch the struggling child as Odin handed him over. Odin whispered a spell that Heimdall should remain unseen while he rode, and a moment later the sharp-eyed god disappeared in a clatter of hoof-beats.

000

“My Lady, your husband has sent me ahead” Heimdall bowed as he entered the apartments from whose balcony the queen and young prince were watching the parade of warriors pour through the gates of Asgard.

Frigga moved Thor from her lap, passing him to Fulla, and then stood to greet Heimdall. “And whom have you brought with you, Heimdall?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at the very small, morose frost-child glaring back at her.

“He is the youngest son of King Laufey,” Heimdall explained, keeping a firm grip on the boy who seemed to be casting about for an escape route. “Odin has decreed that he will be raised in Asgard with the honors befitting a prince. The Allfather asked me to deliver him swiftly to the palace that he need not endure the celebrations below.”

“I see,” Frigga said with a nod, crouching down as she drew close and attempting to catch the child’s eyes. “And what is your name, young prince?”

“I am your husband’s _bane_ ,” the child snarled, glaring at her. “I will see him brought _low_ for this insult and I will take the _head_ from his shoulders that my father’s spirit may know peace!”

“Oh my,” Frigga said, her eyebrows lifting skyward. “Will your heart not soften, bane of my husband?”

“ _Never_ ,” the child answered without hesitation.

“I suppose we shall have to wait and see then,” Frigga said, straightening up and calling to the ladies on the balcony. “Lofn, Vjofn?” Two of the maidens broke away from the group and hurried to their mistress’s side. “This young prince is to be residing with us for some while,” Frigga told them in a low voice, glancing toward the balcony to insure that another small prince was still well occupied by the excitement of the parade through the streets below. “Will you please see him to a nice bath and find him some raiment suitable for a prince?”

“Of course my lady,” the sisters bowed and moved to the child who cast them suspicious glances. Each took one of his small hands and swept him quickly from the room.

“... Poor thing,” Frigga said softly when they had departed. “How old is he? I did not think a frost-giant child of that size should be so articulate.”

Heimdall shook his head. “He has yet to reveal anything about himself other than being Laufey’s son, but it seems quite certain he is a runt, both because his speech is that of a child rather than an infant, and the additional deformity of his coloration.”

Frigga nodded slowly. “He is very pale, isn’t he...” she said softly.

“Aye,” Heimdall agreed. “It seems that Laufey may have been protecting him from the frost-giants’ usual custom of allowing defective children to starve. And without that protection, Odin believes the child would soon be dead, had we left him among his own kind.”

“ _Cruel_ creatures,” Frigga clucked, shaking her head.

000

Loki toppled a small cabinet in the bathing room, startling the maids, and made his escape while they yelled vainly after him. He had observed the way they worked the door-handles and this proved invaluable, as nearly every passage was blocked with a thick slab of wood. The corridors were built of smooth stone and laid with long, narrow carpets. Everything was made of right-angles and the distance between every door and window seemed to be identical. The uniform tessellation of it all made navigation nearly impossible. Every hallway looked like every other, every door was the same size and shape.

But the corridors were thankfully deserted; all the Æsir were either in the streets celebrating Jötenheim’s defeat or on balconies overlooking the festivities. This made it easy to quickly lose his guards, despite them knowing the lay of the land, because there was no one to tell them which way he had run. Soon Loki could no longer hear them pursuing.

He pushed one of the wooden doors in just slightly and peered through the gap. Satisfied that the room seemed to be empty, he slipped inside. Next to one of the walls stood a long table draped in a large, embroidered cloth. It was utterly superfluous and extremely wasteful, but would provide an excellent hiding place, and Loki crawled into the dark little cave created by the drapery to catch his breath. He pressed his back against the stone wall and hugged his knees against him, leaning his forehead upon them and letting his breath slowly calm.

Loki drew a small gasp and then pressed his lips firmly shut when he heard the chamber’s door open and shut again. Soft footsteps moved through the room and suddenly a pair of lady’s shoes, like the queen and maids had worn, appeared by the edge of the table’s skirt. Loki bit down hard on the inside of his lip as the drapery shifted, pulling up to reveal another richly dressed lady, wrinkled and gray-furred, crouching just in front of his hiding place. Loki glared venomously at her as her eyes fell upon him.

“Hello child,” the old woman said softly.

“ _Go away!_ ” Loki snapped. “I will _kick_ you if you don’t!”

The old woman smiled fondly at him. “It is all right to be frightened,” she crooned.

“I am not frightened of _anything!_ Not even _Hel!_ ” Loki declared. “I will throw myself from the window and you will _see_ how unfrightened I am!”

“Goodness, now you have frightened me!” the old woman said, the fur above her eyes lifting high. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I will _not_ be a _trophy!_ ” Loki shrilled.

The old woman’s face formed a grim smile and she nodded slowly. “No. Not you,” she agreed quietly. “I will not see that fate befall you.”

Loki drew a breath, ready to fling some retort or insult back at the old woman and then paused, startled and fascinated to see her lips turning a deep blue. Azure continued to creep out from her lips and eyes, like blood spreading its way through water, and soon overtook all the flesh of her face and neck, as the hue similarly overtook her fingertips and spread its way up her arms. The long fur on her head twisted and pulled together, forming elegantly curving horns, and fine, black lines curled across her cheeks and forehead, marking a lineage Loki didn’t recognize but her race was unmistakable.

“... You are trying to _trick_ me,” Loki whispered, watching her breath form fleeting clouds of mist.

“Never, lovely child,” the old woman said, shaking her head. “The sight of you brings a spark of joy to an old woman’s heart.”

“You are too _small_ to be Jötun,” Loki accused.

“As are you,” the old woman said with an amused smile. “My brothers stood twice my height and made joke of my stature. They called me their dear ‘Little Dolly’ and carried me upon a shoulder.”

Loki narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. “I don’t believe you. You are _not_ of Jötunheim.”

“You are right,” the old woman nodded. “I have never seen Jötunheim. That land had not yet been discovered when I was young. The snows I remember were of that land where Jötun and Æsir first walked, before all others had yet come to be: Niflheim.”

Loki frowned doubtfully at her. “You are lying,” he accused quietly.

“I am not.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Bestla. I was taken by Börr, father of Odin, from my grandfather’s camp, on the very day that my father and brothers were slain,” she said, settling herself to the floor. “Börr gave and took from me several sons, whom he trained so that they would help him slay my mighty grandfather.”

Loki chewed on his lip, studying the old woman and clinging desperately to his skepticism. This time, however, he did not rebuke her or respond. He simply listened.

“The Æsir skalds say that Odin was oldest and strongest of Börr’s sons, and when his father died, he became oldest and strongest of all gods,” Bestla continued, her voice mostly gentle but with the barest hint of a flinty edge to it. “They tell not of his mother or her origins. They tell not of how Odin’s strength was stolen from the womb of Ymir’s own granddaughter. I have seen to this. I compelled my son to grant me his word that one story would never be told,” she said, her voice becoming harder as her lips became again pink and an Æsir seeming once more overtook her skin. “I will not be made a trophy of my grandfather’s defeat.”

Silence then reigned for several minutes as Loki stared out at the strange old woman with such a strange old tale. She smiled gently back at him, her wrinkled face kind and fond. After a while, she spoke again, her voice tender and encouraging, “What is your name, child?”

“... Loki,” Loki whispered, eyeing her reaction keenly.

“Ah, for your grandfather then?” Bestla asked. “The first son of my cousin Bergelmir?”

Loki bit his lip and glanced away momentarily, then nodded shyly.

000

“I should have asked Heimdall to stay,” Frigga sighed, sweeping through corridors and checking within every unlocked room.

“I’m so sorry, mistress,” Lofn mumbled for the tenth time.

“The fault lies not with you alone,” Frigga shook her head. “We all should have been more-- Lady Bestla, you’ve found him!” she exclaimed as she turned a corner to find her mother-in-law sashaying toward her with the little frost child on her hip.

“Yes, he hid very cleverly but Loki has had a most trying day and I think he has become quite tired,” Bestla said gently smiling down at the child.

“Loki? Is that your name, little prince?” Frigga asked, offering a smile which the boy turned away, hiding his face against Bestla’s neck and curling a small hand around the cloth of her collar.

“It’s all right, Lady Frigga. I can look after him for the evening,” Bestla offered sweetly. “Perhaps one of your maids could see to preparing a room and fetching a meal for him?”

“Of course, Lady Bestla. That’s kind of you,” Frigga nodded.

Bestla smiled at her. “When you get to be my age, Lady Frigga, you will find yourself missing such motherly tasks.”

000

“What is it called?” Loki asked, reaching out of the bathwater and touching his small, wet fingers to the side of Bestla’s face and hair. “Doing this? What is it called?”

“You might call it ‘hamask’ or ‘shape-shifting’,” Bestla said, scrubbing at Loki’s ear and behind his jaw. “but it is accomplished with the kind of magic that is called ‘seething’.”

“Seething?” Loki repeated, gripping the edge of the tub and screwing his face up tightly as Bestla scrubbed it over.

“Seething is the most powerful kind of magic,” Bestla explained. “It is the magic that can change the nature of things.”

“I have seethed,” Loki said.

“Have you now?” Bestla asked, amused, as she caught his thin wrist and took a brush to his nails.

“Like this,” Loki said and bit his lip, putting on an expression of concentration. Bestla’s mouth opened slightly in surprise as she watched the child’s ghostly pallor darken into a more ordinary Jötun blue.

“... That is most impressive, Loki,” she said quietly. “Did someone teach you?”

“No,” Loki shook his head. “I didn’t tell anyone that I could. Father believed that the sun had righted my skin, so he let me go outside more freely.”

“I see,” Bestla said, nodding. “You are very talented, Loki.” He beamed at the praise and Bestla ruminated on this curious information for a while as she finished cleaning his fingernails and began scrubbing his back. “Loki, did you know many Jötnar besides your father? Did you speak with them? Did you play with the other children?”

“No,” Loki said quietly. “Father said that they would kill me if I annoyed them. Because I am weak and the weak do not deserve life.”

Bestla nodded. “In Asgard too, strength and power are all that truly matters,” she said slowly. “But I think that your father may have been wrong. I do not think you are weak at all, Loki. I think that your strength is hidden and secret. And secret power is the greatest of all.”

“... I cannot lift a sword or club,” Loki said.

“If you learn to master seething, you will never need to,” Bestla replied.

“Will you teach me?” Loki asked.

“I will.”

000

When finally the festivities had rendered everyone drunk enough that they would not notice the king’s absence, Odin slipped away, leaving Munin at his place and dressed in an illusion of the All Father’s own visage. The raven was happy to remain, gobbling up meat and bread and being toasted every few minutes. Frigga had escaped earlier, with the excuse of putting Thor to bed, and Odin now sought her out.

Even far back in the wing of the palace which housed the royal apartments, the music and revelries could still be heard from the great hall. Odin found his way to the sitting room where Frigga was chatting softly with her hand maiden and exchanging gentle laughter in the warm lantern light. “Husband,” Frigga greeted, rising to her feet as Fulla turned attention to her embroidery, politely ignoring them. “You have left the celebration quite early.”

“None shall even know I am missing,” Odin replied with a smile, holding out his arms as Frigga walked into them. “I have missed you these months,” he said, embracing his wife and breathing in the smell of her hair. “Jötunheim was all the colder for the want of your warmth.”

“Flatterer,” Frigga chuckled.

“Did the frost-child cause you difficulty?” Odin asked, leaning away to look at her face. “Certainly he was more than a handful on the ride to Asgard.”

“At first. He ran away from his bath, but I’m not sure why that should surprise me, Thor attempts the same most days,” she said with an amused smile. “But he chose to behave for your mother. She seems to soothe him.”

Odin stared at her, feeling a chill at his spine. “My mother?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, he took to her quite fondly,” Frigga nodded. “... What is the matter?”

“Where is he?” Odin asked, not answering her question.

“We put him in the room that overlooks the fountain,” Frigga said. “We shall need to find him more furnishings, but it is a nice room and gets the sun in the afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Odin said with a distracted nod, pulling away from her.

“What is the matter?” Frigga asked again.

Odin shook his head. “I’m not sure. Probably nothing,” he lied, walking into the corridor.

“ _Odin_ ,” Frigga called sternly, following him down the hall. “You will _not_ bring that child into my house and then keep _secrets_ from me.”

“I’m sure it is nothing,” Odin reiterated, catching the handle on the door to the child’s new room. Inside, there was gentle singing. “... Mother,” Odin called, approaching the elderly woman who sat in a rocking chair facing the window, bathed in the light of a single lamp and singing softly as she swayed. There were small legs dangling limply next to her hip, revealing that the child was cradled in her lap though the angle of her body blocked the rest of him from sight.

Bestla’s head turned, profiled like a cameo against the dark window as she cast her son a smile. “Odin. Back from your war now? How long before the next, I wonder?” she asked as he approached.

“If they dare to threaten Asgard or Midgard again, Jötunheim will be again put down,” Odin replied, coming around her chair and freezing as he laid eyes on the child. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened. “... Mother, what is this?” he whispered.

The child was fast asleep, curled against Bestla’s chest, one hand clinging to her dress. His skin was the color of cream, and Odin had no doubt it would be soft and warm to the touch. His head was now messily draped with raven-hued locks that curled very slightly and tapered out at jaw-level. He looked like an Æsir child. No, Odin thought, remembering the peculiar-to-Jötnar color of the boy’s eyes, he looked like a very _specific_ Æsir child, one that should not have been remembered by anyone.

“Oh Bestla, what have you _done?_ ” Frigga gasped when she saw and rushed closer to touch the child’s face.

“Loki was quite vexed by the notion of being seen as a trophy,” Bestla explained, smiling softly at the boy sleeping soundly in her arms. “He repeatedly expressed great distress for the matter.”

“Bestla, how could you meddle with the blood of a _child?_ ” Frigga demanded, anger coming into her eyes.

“I did not,” Bestla shook her head.

“This is no mere _illusion_ ,” Frigga insisted, her hand held against the boy’s cheek.

“Indeed it is not. He has changed right through to his bones. The blood in his veins is as red and warm now as your own,” Bestla agreed.

“Then--”

“It was not _me_ who did this,” Bestla smirked.

“Speak not in _riddles_ , Mother,” Odin demanded, glaring down at her.

“I do not,” Bestla replied. “It was Loki who accomplished it of his own power. He is a seether of extraordinary talent.”

“ _Impossible_ ,” Frigga protested. “He has barely cut his teeth.”

“And yet it is so,” Bestla nodded. “I was quite taken aback. Never have I seen such aptitude in one so young. If Loki is diligent in his studies, I think he will one day outstrip you, my son,” she smiled benignly.

Odin narrowed his eye and clenched his jaw momentarily as he looked the boy over. The resemblance was too close. Too close to be a coincidence. “And how did he come by this appearance, Mother?” Odin asked, trying to keep his voice low and calm.

“He chose for himself,” Bestla replied easily. “I think the contrast suits him well. Dark hair to fair skin, it frames him like a picture. He is a pretty little child.” She pressed a kiss to the crown of the boy’s head.

“... Seething at his age,” Frigga murmured unhappily, brushing the child’s newly acquired hair back and watching as his nose twitched ticklishly in his sleep. “It is too dangerous. He will hurt himself if he has not already done so.”

“Which is why he must be taught,” Bestla said, nodding. “Or his curiosity and ability will lead to accidents.”

“He must be taught _responsibility_ ,” Frigga corrected. “I see no reason for him to receive tutelage in _seething_. He is too young to even _consider_ such things, he would only do himself injury. Perhaps he can be taught to spin.”

Bestla eyed her and it was clear she was fighting a sneer. “You may teach him to spin and weave all you like, but seething will still be in his heart and at his fingertips. With such talent as this, Loki was clearly born to seethe.”

“Seething is too dangerous for any child, _especially_ a boy this young,” Frigga insisted, turning to Odin for abetment.

“He will receive no instruction,” Odin decreed. “And he will be forbidden from use of any magics for the time being.”

Bestla’s eyes dimmed sadly and she leaned her cheek against the boy’s head. “You would smother the flame of his soul?”

“I would protect him from it,” Odin corrected. “When he is older, then I will reconsider. For now, he is a child, and should not be concerned with such matters.”

Bestla sighed and rocked forward, propelling herself to her feet while keeping her arms firmly clasping the boy. “I suppose such matters are too adult for such a small boy,” she said, carrying him to the bed. “He has been named for one of the great kings of Jötunheim’s past,” she noted, setting him down and arranging the covers around him. “Odd to give such a prestigious name to a child of small stature. I wonder if his father knew something of Loki’s potential.”

“It matters not. Laufey is dead. Loki’s potential belongs to Asgard now,” Odin watched Bestla’s posture stiffen. She stood back up slowly and turned to look at her son, eyes bright with offense. “Loki will be raised as Thor’s brother and playmate, and he will be called my son,” Odin said, looking back at her unwaveringly.

“... And one day you will march him into Jötunheim, to slaughter his own in Asgard’s name,” Bestla said quietly.

“Bestla, of course he will do no such thing,” Frigga said firmly. “You are upsetting yourself without reason.”

Bestla lowered her head. “I have seen too many of my own children die cruelly and before their time,” she whispered.

“That is not going to happen,” Frigga soothed, moving to put a hand on Bestla’s arm. “The realms are not in such chaos as they once were. Your brave children saw to that.” She gave Bestla a bittersweet smile as she took her elbow and guided her gently toward the door. “Vili and Ve did not die in vain. Their noble sacrifices have made all the nine realms safer, so that children may now simply be children and spend their hours playing as children should.”

Odin watched his wife lead his mother from the room and then turned his gaze back to the child, tucked securely into his blankets and slumbering away peacefully. Looking so much like another boy, from another time, who was forgotten by all but two. Only two souls, in all of Asgard, remembered that face. The face of a boy who had always been his mother’s favorite.

What was she playing at? What sort of taunt was this meant to be? Should he feel guilt or anger? It wasn’t the boy’s fault, but it seemed Bestla wanted him for her chess piece, and Odin could not stand idly by while she played her game. Nor could he change the boy’s appearance now that it had been chosen, not without betraying weakness, fear. But such a mask was not to be feared. It was just a taunt; that’s all it was. Odin would not allow his mother to see that the boy’s face affected him. He was not afraid. Fear was dead, and Bestla’s games would not change that.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh muh God, you guys, [RenneMichaels](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RenneMichaels/pseuds/RenneMichaels) drew me a fanart for this fic! [Check it out!](http://rennemichaels.tumblr.com/post/136928717903/the-old-woman-smiled-fondly-at-him-it-is-all)
> 
> References to Jotun-Loki's complexion are stemming from Thor vol3 #12, where Jotun-Loki is almost white when he's seen on his own or confronting Odin, but in the scene where we see him talking to Laufey, he's suddenly blue, and given that all three scenes were in the same issue, and therefore had the same colorist, that would seem to be an intentional thing rather than a mistake.
> 
> This is mostly going off comic-verse stylings, but I guess I ended up writing Odin and Frigga's relationship more like movie-verse (instead of super unhealthy), so this doesn't really belong to any of the canon verses, just sort of inspired-by.
> 
> In comic-verse, Bestla is briefly mentioned in, like, a one-panel flashback as the bride of Borr, and I think they called her a mountain giant or something. So in Norse mythology, Æsir doesn't refer to a species or anything like that, it's a specific family line, it's _just_ the gods descended from Buri, and every other god-type-person is just referred to as a 'giant', and on occasion they might specify that this or that one was a frost-giant or a bad-giant, but usually everybody's just a giant (because presumably the Scandinavians figured gods were just a lot bigger than humans, thus 'giant'.) Point being that in the mythologies Bestla is just referred to as a 'giant' with nothing more specific attached to that, but at the point in the mythology when she's referenced, the only giants/gods we've heard about and know exist yet in the primordial landscape are Æsir and the frost-giants, and she is not Æsir.
> 
> Pretty much everything Bestla said in this fic about frost-giant history is stuff I made up/comics-style reinterpreted using characters from the mythology but not sticking to the canonical mythology. I had her say something about Loki being named after his grandfather, that was a reference to Utgard-Loki, a frost-giant king in the mythologies. She also called him Bergelmir's son, and he definitely _would_ be descended from Bergelmir (because all bad giants were) but I'm not sure there's anything in the mythology to indicate how many generations might have been between them.
> 
> I wrote this in the summer, I think, and at the time I'd been thinking about writing a second part, but I've decided I don't really think it needs one, and I really wanted to post something because it's been a few weeks since I've gotten any updates in on my chapter fics. Unfortunately I didn't get any time off this holiday season and my weekends were dedicated to family obligations, so it's been a while since I've had quality writing time.
> 
> If you're not a comic-reader, the end scene probably confused you. That's veiled references to Cul (The Serpent), from the Fear Itself event.


End file.
